Betwixt mine eye and heart
by Delenn
Summary: "It's not until the Towers that he goes back for her journal. And not for a long time after that. For a while, after, he hides away and tries to hate the universe for robbing him of someone so important. He gave River both his hearts and she is buried with them in the Library. He doesn't care anymore. Or so he tries to tell himself."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: "It's not until the Towers that he goes back for her journal. And not for a long time after that. For a while, after, he hides away and tries to hate the universe for robbing him of someone so important. He gave River both his hearts and she is buried with them in the Library. He doesn't care anymore. Or so he tries to tell himself."**

**Notes:** **Eep. I don't even know what I'm thinking. Now here I am, trying to write the Doctor. *wrings hands nervously*** **The alternate title for this work is: "How the Doctor studied Archaeology (and liked it)," and I hope it will actually be more fluffy, once it gets going.** **Title is from Shakespeare. I know: hopelessly pretentious.**

**Rated: M**

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_Betwixt mine eye and heart_

It's not until the Towers that he goes back for her journal. And not for a long time after that. For a while, after, he hides away and tries to hate the universe for robbing him of someone so important. He gave River both his hearts and she is buried with them in the Library. He doesn't care anymore. Or so he tries to tell himself.

But once he is cajoled and threatened and generally tricked (if the universe would just stop handing him mysteries all wrapped up in shiny boxes! He loves mysteries - it's one of the reasons he loves River so) into rejoining the universe and saving it all over again, he goes back for her diary.

It's not that it has stopped hurting. It really, really hasn't. Every time he hears his hearts beat he always starts a moment in surprise - certain that they're no longer in his chest. There is a painful emptiness where her heartbeats should echo his.

But he is trying to be the man he used to be, the man River made him want to be. He was drifting a long time before River. Since the Time War his patience has been shorter, his hearts heavier. He keeps losing things. And now he's lost her. He's lost himself. If he's going to start gallivanting across the universe again, just a mad man in a blue box, he needs River.

So he collects her diary. He parks the TARDIS right up against the ledge. He cracks the door open and feels along the railing with one outstretched hand and his eyes squeezed shut. When his fingers skitter nervously across the bound leather of her diary, the shock of pain almost brings him to his knees. He just manages to stay upright, grabbing her diary and his screwdriver just long enough to get them in the TARDIS, slamming the door shut, and reversing back into the vortex before he can't move or do _anything _anymore.

When the flurry of activity is over, he finds himself even more drained than usual. It's so much _work_ lately, to keep up the mask. To be the Doctor. He slides haphazardly down on the floor, back against the reassuring hum of the console, and simply stares at the little blue book for so long that even he loses track of time. It feels somehow wrong to touch it. Even the brief memory of the leather under his palm burns him with images of River's fingers stroking where his have just been.

Finally, weary, he gathers up the fragile old book and lets the memories engulf him. This is what he came for. To find her again. To mourn and to love and to laugh and to remember how to be the Doctor. Too much of the time he hates himself, more than anything. But River has always loved him, in spite of and because of all the parts he hides behind too-quick smiles and enthusiasm he doesn't really feel.

When he starts to turn the pages, reliving their lives in her order, it is everything he could have wished for and more. The pages are full of sprawling notes and hastily scribbled margins. The first few - her time in university - he hasn't lived yet. And he hastily scrolls past, hearing her warning, "Spoilers!" clear as day, and torn between a sort of giddy excitement and hollow ache.

He knows that he will visit her, from vague spoilers River has already let slip, from their wedding, from their lives. He wonders how long it will take him to be able to see her at her beginning without feeling the ragged gaping hole left by her end. He wonders if it will be at his end. Truly back to front one last time.

The date and time of his death at Lake Silencio take up an entire page in bold strokes. It stabs at him until he realizes that this was before she went. These are notes. Some sort of academic and research interest, perhaps a part of her thesis. Such an archeologist. He shouldn't like that, but he kind of does.

After that, he settles in for their adventures. The pages are full of them. Written in pen and laser and charcoal and lipstick and once or twice in what certainly tastes like River's blood. That makes his aching hearts stop, reminding him painfully that they're still there, no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

Sometimes her entries are nothing more than a carefully curated word and coordinates, as though at any time one of them could go back and relive it. Sometimes there are pages sprawling full of highly detailed depictions of their times together, leaving him rapt and blushing. Occasionally she just writes, her thoughts spilling across the page, usually about him, even though he knows she is not referencing anything in particular. Sometimes she writes her entries to him, as though she has always known that he will be reading them. Half of these are exasperated and half are elaborate love letters in disguise.

About half way through, he realizes that the book is bigger on the inside. He doesn't remember it being that way when he gave it to her, but he rather suspects he should have known. It is somehow comforting.

By the time he gets toward the end, through all the tears and laughter and fond annoyance that River's diary contains, the Doctor starts to feel the same weary dread fill him again. They are headed to the Towers, to the Library, all over again, and he cannot. He barely withstood it the first time.

He's just about to close her diary up again, close himself up again, when he finds the entry.

_The Doctor appeared in the middle of my Middle Ancient Earth History (1900-3000 CE) lecture again. That man. I swear he gets some sort of twisted pleasure out of disrupting my classes. If he gets me fired, I'll kill him twice._

The Doctor pauses. Something about her careful wording. Her entries after Stormcage have been more detailed and relaxed, as though she knew the only person she had to worry about reading them is him. So, why then is this one entry so deliberately vague? The more he puzzles over it, the more certain he is. Without even consciously deciding, the Doctor pushes himself up and starts fiddling with controls, nose still stuck in River's diary and trusting his Old Girl to get him where he needs to be. Suddenly, he is positively giddy again, bouncing on his toes and spinning around the console.

Because she said _again_, "Oh, my bad, bad girl."

Her diary never mentions another visit. The Doctor hastily shoves said diary into his breast pocket and strides out the TARDIS doors the second she lands. _River. Professor Song._ He is going to be in every single one of her classes. He'll enroll if he has to. Get another doctorate. _Because there are missing pages waiting to be lived._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter lives up to the mature content warning. So will most of the rest of the fic. Enter at your own risk.**

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The Doctor makes it something of a point to exit the TARDIS without looking first. River enjoyed - _enjoys_ - teasing him about environmental checks, but they both know that between his Time Lord constitution and the TARDIS shields, there's not like to be any danger to him the second he steps out the doors. Now two seconds after, well, that's a whole other matter entirely.

Still, the Doctor can't help but wish he'd perhaps peaked out just a tiny bit before exiting on this one occasion. He is almost immediately flattened against the hastily closed door, pushed back by the inexorable press of thousands of students of hundreds of species rushing across the manicured lawns in what must be a hive of highly coordinated but apparently random maneuvers.

Passing period.

The Doctor scowls, hearing the distinctive TARDIS hum that always sounds like she's laughing at him. She almost certainly did this on purpose.

It takes the Doctor almost a full minute, wedged against the TARDIS, before he is able to get his bearings and dive through a miniscule break in the crowd. It's been some time since he's ventured across a large 51st century university, and he's not missed this part.

Thankfully, the giant hologram clock hovering above the walkways quickly shifts to a warning yellow and then a harsh red, announcing that the next class session has started. Once the harried students have all but disappeared in their rush to classes, the Doctor ambles across the lawn and over to the nearest information vid.

His Old Girl may have been having him off a bit with the passing period business, but she seems to have put him just during one of River's classes. He supposes he may have deserved it, since he was in a rather surly mood that could, perhaps, _technically_ have been brooding. And, maybe it is a little bit useful to have a few moments to think before he bursts in on River and crushes her into his arms and refuses to let her go.

Grudgingly offering a jerky nod toward the TARDIS, the Doctor quickly makes his way toward one of the more ornate buildings, which, naturally, houses Professor River Song.

The projection screen across the door reads: _Archaeology 402:_ _Middle Ancient Earth History (1900-3000 CE)_.

He pauses to adjust his bowtie, hair and greatcoat, wondering if he should have dug out something else so she doesn't know how far along he is. Her words echo in his head: _one does one's best to hide the damage_, and he shakes his head to be rid of them. He'll be as honest as he can, which is always pitifully little. This far along, she knows him better than he knows himself anyway.

Pasting on his best grin - quite dashing, if he does say so himself - the Doctor throws open the large double-doors to the lecture hall and strides in with his most confident flourish. "Professor River Song! I'm looking forward to studying under you." He says her title with relish.

River pauses half way through whatever she was lecturing on, turning to stare at him with her mouth still half open and her most incredulous look.

The Doctor feels his hearts slam back into his chest as soon as her eyes meet his. He is simultaneously being crushed by a thousand planets and able to breathe for what feels like the first time.

River Song is two hundred steps, three landings and a stage away from him. In all her blazing, beautiful, _living_ glory. A River Song who he should never have seen. One who is not in either of their diaries. Looking at him with fond exasperation crinkling her eyes and pursing her lips just enough that he knows it means she is regretting ever letting him out in public. _His wife._

The rest of the amphitheater-sized classroom has gone perfectly quiet - even the near-constant background hum of electronics being tapped and swiped freezes to a sudden halt. In his haste, the Doctor realizes belatedly that passing period is over, which means that class has already begun. He offers River a sheepish look and wrings his hands to stop them from shaking.

Recovering herself admirably quickly, River gives him an exasperated shake of her head and announces briskly, "Ah, class. This is my - rather chronically late - husband." The murmurs start up even before she has completed the sentence, but River ignores them, turning toward the Doctor with an unreadable look, "Why don't you sit down, Doctor." It is not a suggestion.

Hurrying toward the front of the classroom, the Doctor stumbles his way across the multitudes of whispering students to sit right smack in the middle of the first row. He is torn between rapt attention and the ever-growing urge to just race up onto the stage, scoop River into his arms and never ever let her go again. Ever.

River just graces him with a bemused smile and half-turns back toward the projection overlaying the half of the stage that serves as her teaching floor. "As I was saying..."

Somewhat reluctantly, and with quite a bit of excited muttering that River pointedly ignores, the students gradually turn their gazes from the Doctor and toward their lesson, though he can still feel their occasional curious glances directed his way.

River makes it through two projections without her eyes leaving his. She goes through the material effortlessly, her words and gestures clearly full of an engaging passion for the topic at hand. Her smile, though, is just for him. And the Doctor can't focus on the words coming out of her mouth when she is standing right there, his whole universe, smiling at him like he's the center of hers.

Her next projections are more complicated and, with a slightly regretful twist to her smile, River turns her eyes toward the digital artifacts appearing on the table as she references them, her hands sweeping against them as though they are real.

The Doctor's hand shoots up in the air quite entirely against his will. His limbs often have minds of their own, and he generally lets them do as they please, since some part of his brain is usually five steps ahead of the rest of him on any given number of things. He's barely heard a word she's said in the last fifteen minutes, but suddenly her eyes are elsewhere and he will do _anything_ to bring them back to him. He can't help it.

River's eyes sweep over him with a quelling look before she moves on, answering a few other questions scattered across the room and splashed across the internet wall.

The Doctor raises his hand higher, bouncing in his seat and ignoring the fact that once again half the class has focused their attention on him. The other half is still fixed on River, waiting to see her response.

River's glare is withering this time. "As I was saying -"

"But that's wrong!"

Almost immediately, the Doctor claps both hands over his mouth, slouching back down in his chair and glancing nervously back and forth to see if there was anyone else who could have possibly spoken.

River turns. The full glorious weight of her attention fixed on him. "I'm sorry, Doctor. What was that?"

Even the holographic representations of absent students are leaning forward in their seats, rapt.

The Doctor removes his hands from his mouth and straightens up as best he can - crammed into auditorium seating that was clearly designed by an architect of some species that didn't actually need to breathe while sitting - and tries again. "That. What you just pointed at. It's wrong. That's from 3263, not 2392, and it's not even from Earth! That's New Martian!"

He's standing, working himself up to a full rant on the inaccuracies that one has to suffer with archaeology, leaning against the railing and still not anywhere near close enough to the stage and River. Of course one part of his brain was cataloging and cross-referencing everything she said. He is a genius, after all.

"If you're going to sit in on my classes, Doctor," River begins icily, with only a thin veneer of patience adopted for their rather large audience, "then I'll thank you to keep your opinion to yourself."

He's hanging half over the railing now, inches from just leaping up onto the stage, almost sputtering with indignation and enjoying the hot race of it through his veins. With anyone else, this would be a trivial debate that was hardly worth his explanations, but River makes his hearts pound and his jaw clench. Even arguing is better with River around. "My opinion! It's not an opinion, River. It's a fact. That is New Martian."

River's smile is all teeth. "Which is your opinion."

The class has gone deathly silent again, watching this exchange. The Doctor sputters and runs a shaky hand through his hair to keep from ending the argument by snogging River senseless. "Isn't that all archaeology is? Opinions and _educated_ guesses?"

River can be so infuriatingly - wonderfully - obstinate. One of the Doctor's hands is itching to go for his sonic, as though he could scan the hologram to prove the veracity of his words. Actually, if he re-routed the power from the projector to make a feedback loop - he can see the beginnings of a mad plan taking shape in his mind.

Apparently, River can see that plan as well because she finally leans back from where she had been gripping the podium and offers a too-tight laugh that is directed toward her class, her eyes leaving his for brief seconds before being inevitably drawn back to him. "One of the many joys of archaeology. Since there are inevitably discrepancies among interpretations of the past, everyone thinks that they have all the facts. Many intellectual debates over vague artifacts have resulted in exciting new discoveries or even more controversial interpretations. Did anyone else have any thoughts on σ-957, or shall we move on?"

The Doctor is torn between being impressed by how neatly she steered away from his - very much right - point, a bit in awe of what a good instructor she is, and annoyed that she has glossed over another glaring archeological inaccuracy when he was only trying to help her correct it. He reluctantly decides to be content just watching her, now that she is not ignoring him. Belatedly, he realizes that if he keeps antagonizing her, she's like as not to throw him out of her lecture, and he doesn't think he could stand to have her out of his sight. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to stand it again.

The Doctor settles in to watch the lecture, going so far as to sit on his hands, fidgeting awkwardly but keeping his lips pressed tightly together. It's not all that difficult, even for him. He's rather too fixated on River's mouth as she talks, rounding out with her exclamations and pursing with her contemplations. He can hardly be expected to pay attention to _words_ as well.

That said: the majority of her lecture is spot on. River is as much of a perfectionist as he is, and was probably the one to either uncover or bury most of the artifacts she mentions. There are a few minor discrepancies, but he gets the feeling that perhaps she is leaving those in precisely because it would otherwise be impossible to know they were wrong if one wasn't used to, say, traveling through all of time and space. He's almost certain, actually, by the way her eyes challenge him when she lets these little errors enter her lecture, as though she is daring him to call her on it.

The Doctor just smirks back and mimes zipping his mouth shut, just for the exasperated toss of River's hair that it provokes. The one that promises retribution in his future. He really shouldn't like that. Kind of does, a bit.

But what he really likes is watching his wife teach. They so rarely have time to sit and observe one another without being interrupted by exploding planets or multitudes of beings trying to shoot at them (it's really rather rude). With the fresh wound of losing her, the Doctor is all the more appreciative of a moment to sit and watch River be _brilliant._

And oh, she is.

River spins tails of history that drag even the most recalcitrant university pupils to the edges of their seats with wonder. It's the details she tosses in amongst the recitations of facts - little gems here and there. Just enough to make the students feel like they really were part of that time; balancing carefully just on this side of knowledge that one would have to have been there to know. Time travel is highly regulated in this century, and alternative travel arrangements are frowned upon.

The Doctor is torn between a grimace at the whole Time Agency and the idea that these primitive space cowboys think they can police time when all they do is muck it up, and a decidedly inappropriate grin at the reminder that his bad girl has corrupted their technology for her own means. Not that he approves, per say, but it's _River_ - oh, who is he kidding? With River, he's long ago lost count of the things he shouldn't approve of but kind of does anyway.

Startled out of his musings by several students angrily shoving past him, the Doctor awkwardly pulls his knees up on the uncomfortable little chair to let them by, realizing that the class must have been dismissed.

By the time he can see the stage again, past the never-ending hordes of students and backpacks and the ceaseless swell of chatter that has sprung up with the absence of the lecture, the auditorium is almost empty.

A few students stand nervously by River's podium, waiting to ask questions. River smiles at them kindly, and soon they're beaming back, the whole lot of them gesturing and laughing with River as she draws them out. She has that effect on people.

And she actually answers their questions.

"Now, you've not come all this way just to interrupt my class and glare at me, have you, Doctor?"

Her voice is closer than he'd expect, and the Doctor looks up to find River leaning enticingly over the railing toward his seat, the last of the students just disappearing behind closed doors. The Doctor crosses his arms over his chest, trying valiantly to be cross (rather than staring at River's cleavage, and had she really been wearing that shirt the whole lecture? Positively indecent!). "I bet you never tell them: _Spoilers!_"

River laughs, warm and rich, and a knot in the Doctor's stomach uncoils. He clambers to his feet, uncrosses his arms, and splays them wide instead, an invitation that River takes immediately - gracefully swinging over the rail and into his arms.

She is surrounding him. It is overwhelming, after so long, to be caught up with the touch and scent of her. All hot tingling energy and soft curves and everything that makes River so very _River_. She sets his considerable senses on fire. The Doctor inhales her and wishes it were just that easy.

And then River is dragging him down to her, closer still, her lips claiming his just as hungrily. "Hello, sweetie."

He answers her with an urgency that cannot be put into words, crushing her to him and holding her as tight as he dares. They're long past any fumbling; they melt into each other with all the ease that such a long marriage brings, without ever losing the passion that burns between them. All consuming - as their hands roam and tongues twine - the rest of the universe fading into the background.

When they finally part for breath, River wriggles impatiently in his arms. "Sweetie, you're crushing me." But her voice is full of laughter, and she doesn't let go of him when he forces himself to loosen his grip.

The Doctor tries to look apologetic, running his hands along her back and sides in case he's hurt her. But River just pulls him in for a playfully brief kiss, her eyes teasing as her hands smooth soothingly across his shoulders. They can never keep their hands off one another, when they've got a version that is old enough to appreciate it. The Doctor is frequently amazed at the restraint River showed with his younger self, knowing first-hand how difficult it must have been for her to not snog him senseless right off. He rather enjoys it when she does.

He grins down at her, drinking in the sight of her, here, this her. "Look at you. Professor River Song!" He pulls back and throws his arms wide, trying to gesture at the whole room, the whole university, all at once.

Even these few seconds are too much time away from her, now that he's had her in his arms. The Doctor finds himself drawing closer again, fiddling nervously with River's hair instead of his own.

But River's eyes have changed in the second he looked away. After a moment of regarding him, River lets the smile slip from her face, worry creasing her brow. "Something is different with you, Doctor." She tries to turn the question teasing, not quite willing to dampen the mood, but doesn't quite hit the mark, "You've not called me that since the incident with the spoilers."

The Doctor ducks his head away because he can't give her the answer. The biggest spoiler of all. Because she's right. For the first time, her title no longer carries the bitter tang of the Library that weighs down his tongue and hearts. Instead, it is a promise. This is his River, his wife for so long now. They are as close to linear as they ever get; all the more rare by how late they are in their timelines. He has already been to the Library, and he never thought he would have this her again. He will not waste his time with her all over again.

So he dodges the question, grabbing River's hand and dragging her down toward the stage, quickly sonicing the sound equipment for music and dancing them across it to a waltz half a universe away and five thousand years past. River follows his steps easily, leading when he forgets the steps. The laughter is back in her eyes, though a small crinkle tells him that she's not forgotten. "Now. Wife. I finally have you all to myself. Whatever shall we do?"

"Well, you've already ruined my class and wrecked university property. What has gotten into you today, Doctor?" But River leans in closer to him as they dance, and he knows she isn't really complaining at all.

He huffs into her hair, "Oi. I did no such thing. Sitting in on your lecture is hardly ruining the class."

River tilts her head up to fix him with a bemused, "You hardly just sat there."

The Doctor just continues leading them across the stage, enjoying the moment and half-absently teasing, "Are students not allowed to ask questions now?"

"Not just to show off and correct the professor!" He dips her for that comment, and River gives him a look that clearly says he just proved her point.

The Doctor huffs again. He doesn't exactly have his hands free to fidget, and he's not about to remove them from River's body. "It's not my fault you got the artifacts mixed up." At her genuine glare, he amends sheepishly, "And I behaved after."

River heaves a suffering sigh that is entirely for show. "I will say, you were rather exceptionally well behaved for you, sweetie." Never one to pass up an opportunity to make him blush, she continues musingly, "I'll have to introduce you as my husband more often. I'd rather the students try to puzzle out my mysterious marriage than spread more rumors about my _extracurricular activities_."

And, despite everything, she succeeds. The Doctor fights off his instinctual blush, squawking out, "River!"

But River is already laughing and pushing away from him and toward the podium. Gathering up her lecture notes while he fiddles with the sonic and tries to prove he's _not_ broken the sound system, to no avail. He reluctantly leaves it on some sort of 2280-era pop with the sound somehow even louder than before, after four increasingly failed attempts, and bounds over to River. He is suddenly quite eager to escape the lecture hall before someone comes along to investigate.

River digs her diary out of her briefcase and half turns toward him, just about to crack it open and just narrowly avoiding him skidding right into her in his haste. "Right, shall we do dia-"

The Doctor snatches the diary out of her hands and tucks it away in her briefcase again before she can get it open. He doesn't want to see it. Not right now. "I'm a bit farther along than you are this time, dear." He bops her on the nose with genuine affection and false joviality.

Seeing her diary has put the weight of the Library back between them, and he fights to stop it from showing. It's not been this hard in a long time, not since those first few times he saw her after the Library, when all he wanted was to run the other way - as if that could somehow save her.

River gives him a bit of an odd look, but accepts his strange behavior. There have been too many times in their long relationship where honesty has simply not been an option. A certain amount of selective ignorance is required. She doesn't ask him to elaborate.

But the Doctor hovers another minute, shifting awkwardly. "Actually, River. There's something I need to ask you."

River's eyebrow lifts, "If it's about New Mars, you can just keep it to yourself."

"Don't write this down." He blurts, hurrying on when she looks like she's about to reply, "No, no. Hear me out. I know it's breaking the rules. But they're my rules, and just this once - just this once, River, don't write this down." He's gripping her shoulders by the end, trying to pour every ounce of seriousness and sincerity he has into making her believe him without having to explain.

River looks down at his hands and back up again, expression unreadable. "All right."

"I - What? - All right? That's it?" The Doctor blinks down at her, astonished. His arms drop helplessly to his sides.

He expected to have to convince her. He had a whole speech worked out in his head, for once, and it was even somewhat coming out like he'd intended.

River laughs. "Oh, my love. Your face-" She dissolves into mirth again.

The Doctor sulks. "I had a whole speech."

Taking a moment to compose herself, River twines his hands into her own, making him look up at her again. "Oh, I know."

She enjoys baffling him. He just knows it. "What? River - that wasn't the speech!"

River just smiles again, drawing him closer until their bodies are pressed together and he is quickly forgetting anything about speeches or diaries or - her mouth is at his ear. "Want to know a spoiler, Doctor?" River doesn't wait for his reply, continuing in a low voice, "This isn't the first time you've wandered into one of my classes."

The Doctor pulls back to look at her. Her eyes are dancing and mischievous. "I - oh. I've already asked you, haven't I?"

River nods, her eyes rather fixed on his bowtie, one of her hands idly stroking it while the other curves around the nape of his neck. "You were _very _convincing."

The Doctor clears his throat. "Looking forward to it." It's hard to focus with her hands on him.

"Mmm," when River looks up, her eyes are dark, "you could always convince me again," she waits for his intake of breath, "just to be thorough."

When she looks at him like that - well - River certainly knows how to bring him to attention. Suddenly the only thing on his mind is that his wife is in front of him, waiting. And one should never keep River Song waiting.

With a growl, the Doctor presses forward, walking River backwards until her bum hits the podium and her eyes widen. He notes with satisfaction that the podium appears to be sturdy enough, pinning her against it with his body.

River pushes herself up on her tiptoes and tilts her neck to give him better access even as she mutters, "Here? Oh Doctor, am I rubbing off on you?"

The Doctor ignores her. He can hardly be expected to care about pesky details like where they are when River is canting her hips up against his as one of her legs snakes up his own, her heel digging in just slightly. Rubbing off on him, indeed.

The Doctor unceremoniously lifts River up and onto the podium. It's a little high, but it puts her glorious cleavage right at eye level, and he's hardly complaining about that. Neither is River, when he buries his face in her chest.

He nips and licks across the swell of her breasts, tasting her eagerly and leaving trails of marks that make her moan and arch up against him, her hands burying in his hair to tug him closer. His tongue delves into the tight crease between her breasts and traces the edges of the exposed flesh, delving under the edges of her top and tracing the barely-covered lace of her bra.

River's breasts - well, he knows she thinks he is far too obsessed with her hair, but that really doesn't even begin to compare with how he feels about her breasts. They are enticing and perfect and all pushed up eagerly by her tight bra and shirt, just begging for his attention. As amazing as they are like this, he'd really rather free them from their confines, and he tugs at her bra with his teeth, scraping them against her skin and making River gasp, but the fabric doesn't budge. Belatedly, he realizes that River's probably going to need a more modest blouse for her next class (which he is only a little smug about), and that she will probably smack him for it once she realizes.

Hoping to distract her, one of his hands snakes down toward her skirt, already halfway up her spread thighs, and pushes it up further, until his fingers can skate along the seam of her knickers. Without lifting his head from her breasts, the Doctor presses harder, his fingers rubbing firmly against the damp silk and lace and the little bundle of nerves encased behind it.

River keens and pushes him back with a gasp. Chest heaving, she eyes him speculatively before she shifts against the podium, spreading her legs wider and moving to start on the buttons of her blouse while her gaze burns into him.

Impatient, the Doctor bats her hands away with his own, soothing River's protest at the loss of contact by settling back between her thighs and spearing her with a look that makes her stop wriggling and recline back on the podium instead. As much as he loves it when River teases him, he doesn't want a show today - he just wants her. All of her. Right now.

He takes particular delight in popping the buttons of her shirt undone and exposing the rest of her golden skin to his hungry eyes. He wants to memorize her down to her individual cells. He bends his head to trace a path across her skin with his tongue, reveling in the taste of her. Sugar and spice and naughty and nice - he manages to muffle his giddy giggle against her hip. And time. The warm, rolling feel of it - not just clinging to her but a part of her. A heady golden swirl that rushes through him. River Song tastes of time itself.

"Sonic, sweetie."

River is breathless above him, and he doesn't pause in his ministrations as he fishes in his coat pocket with one hand and hands it over without a moment's hesitation. Whatever she wants it for, he trusts her. She can take care of the monster or the signal or the cabinets for all he cares - he's just a bit busy taking care of her.

River shuffles against him, sliding her blouse the rest of the way off, and arches deliciously as she aims the sonic over her head without looking. The music cuts off and, in the suddenly echoing amphitheater, the click of locks bolting is as startling as the podium suddenly lowering down to just the right height; River sliding down his body with it.

The Doctor reluctantly straightens and blinks at River, still dazed with the intoxication of having her in his arms.

"Spoilers!" Her voice is full of that same sinful anticipation as always.

Just hearing her say that word in that voice - just knowing that there are spoilers still - the Doctor hauls her flush against him and crushes her mouth to his. His tongue desperately seeking out the taste and sound and soul of River and _spoilers_. River moans and presses herself into him, and he knows that nothing - not even a horde of raging Sycorax or an entire Judoon platoon - could tear him away from River in this moment.

River's skirt is bunched up between them, and one hand draped around his neck is still clutching his sonic even as the other moves toward her waist to tug at her zip. Reluctantly, the Doctor reclaims his sonic, tucking it safely back into his pocket. His other hand still grips her hip as he steps back just enough for River to wriggle and slip the silky material of her skirt and knickers down her legs.

The Doctor is pressed back against her almost instantly, his hands moving restlessly along her body, indecisive in the face of so much skin. When his hands butt against her bra, he quickly comes to a decision, reaching around to unhook it and tugging until River lets him slide it down her arms and toss it away.

Not that River has been idle. Her legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, somehow under his coat, which she is busy trying to shove off his shoulders, though he can't bear to take his hands off her long enough to let her. He is a greedy, selfish old man, and River is being remarkably patient with him.

"Sweetie," there's an exasperated edge to River's voice, even as it wobbles slightly, "get your trousers off before I ruin them."

The Doctor hesitates, hands fluttering uselessly at River's hips as his mind spins a million ideas, even though he knows she's right and isn't entirely sure she's not ruined his trousers already. He can't stop touching her, though, now that she's here and in front of him. _River_. His exhalation is buried in the skin of her throat.

River heaves a sigh and pushes his arms back until she can shove off his coat with a satisfied humph and start on the fastenings to his trousers.

Her hands on him spur him into action, and the Doctor hastily works at his bowtie, leaving it dangling undone as he tugs impatiently at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. River's hands smooth over his own with a low chuckle, rescuing his bowtie to drape over her neck. "Eager, my love?"

"For you, River Song, always." The sight of his bowtie against her skin will always fill him with the same combination of raw emotion and lust, and he swallows it back by reclaiming her mouth.

He manages to keep the rest of him still long enough for River to finish undressing him, her hands running along newly revealed skin as she tugs off his shirt and pushes down his trousers and pants.

Then they are pressing eagerly against one another, the Doctor biting back a sharp wave of longing at how well they fit together. It has been so long without her that he had almost forgotten how empty he feels until she is pressed up against him.

He tears his mouth from hers and buries his face in her curls again, trembling against the tide of emotion. He presses kisses against her brow while his hands cradle her head, tangled up in that glorious hair that more than anything makes this feel real - nothing can ever compare to the pure, unrestrained chaos and beauty of River's hair. Oh, he's missed that - missed her - so much. River's hands stroke soothingly through his hair and along his back until he steadies. Then her small hands are wrapping around him, and he is trembling all over again.

River shifts her hips and guides him inside her, and the Doctor finds himself so enveloped in her that he can barely think for the feel of her. The hot swirl of time and River burning through him. For one aching moment, they are so perfectly tangled up in one another that the Doctor cannot tell where he ends and River begins. It is everything that always should be.

River's heels dig into him as she slowly rocks her hips, holding him tight against her, and the Doctor snaps back into himself. He follows her tender rhythm, his hands running along her back and sides and hips and everywhere he can reach without moving away from her. He can't keep his hands still, too busy remapping every last line and curve and dip of her body, all emblazoned behind his eyelids as if he could ever forget.

He reclaims River's mouth for a long and languid kiss, their tongues moving against one another as thoroughly and gently as their hips. He loses himself in the timelessness of being with River. Unhurried. One of his hands settles splayed across River's lower back, pressing her even closer.

River moans against his mouth and turns the kiss deeper, more demanding. She wiggles all those delightful curves against him and pulls her hips back faster. Suddenly the simmering heat in his body is anything but unhurried. He drives into her with renewed vigor and River hums appreciatively, her hands dropping to the edge of the podium to support their frantic movements.

As lovely of a view as it is, - his wife spread naked and bouncing before him - the Doctor wants nothing more than to keep her pressed as close to him as possible.

He curves his back to bend over her, keeping her close while he slides one arm under her bum and the other up toward her shoulder blades, supporting her as he lifts her bottom off the podium and drags her infinitesimally closer. River's hips keep time with his as one of her hands grips the ledge of the podium and the other comes up to wrap around his shoulders, bracing herself as they move.

The heat is building and their hips are rocking faster and it's still not enough. The Doctor fights a whinge building in the back of his throat. He presses their foreheads together, adding to the slick hot press of skin between them. "No, no. River. Hold onto me."

"Always." River promises - all breathless intensity.

He kisses her again, noses bumping as they shift, dragging her closer against him, and River is suddenly clinging to him completely, both her arms wrapped around his neck with the power of her belief that he won't let her fall.

Straightening, the Doctor spins them around until his back is resting against the podium and River is above him, surrounding him, skin glistening in the filtered light. He keeps a firm grip on her as they move, dragging her against him in quick, hard movements that drive him deeper, closer, as her fingers dig into his shoulders and she moves above him.

He can feel River's whole body quivering against him, all taut muscles and pounding hearts. The Doctor presses up hard in counterpoint to the drop of her body against his, muffling a startlingly possessive growl against her shoulder with a nip. River keens and shatters above him, slumping over him even as her hips still raise and fall against his, and he is smothered under the glorious weight and taste and scent of her.

The Doctor doesn't let her come down, equal parts desperate and desperate for this to never end. He just wants to see her again, all open and flushed and breathless under his gaze. Her body like living fire against his. He tightens his grip on her bum as his other hand begins running across her body - fingers skittering against all the hidden spots that make River shudder against him.

River is still fighting to catch her breath and failing, caught up in the aftershocks of her orgasm even as she raises herself up enough to meet his eyes. "God, sweetie, I-"

He cuts off her whimpered protest with his mouth, swallowing down her moans as he determinedly keeps her strung taut, pushing her higher as he thrusts hard against her, lifting her weight easily in counterpoint to his motions, and running his fingers across her sides and breasts and down between them to slip and press against her oversensitive clit with fast, hard motions.

River screams this time, pulling her mouth from his to gasp in breath as she comes undone around him, keeping up her rhythm even as she drops all her weight against him and calls out his name. She drops her forehead back to his and the sheer magnitude of emotion and ecstasy that magnifies and doubles and consumes him is enough to send the Doctor falling over the edge after her, River's name spilling from his lips as a benediction. All he can hear and see and feel and taste is River, surrounding him, part of him, and they are gasping and falling and mixing and even the swirl of color and light behind his eyelids cannot tell them apart. The Doctor keeps his eyes closed and absorbs River.

When the Doctor's eyes open again, River's hands are running soothingly across his brow and jaw and she is murmuring to him in soft Gallifreyan. Nonsensical words and whispers of love.

The Doctor blinks lazily and takes in their new position. Apparently, he'd fallen rather literally. They are splayed out on the floor, his back resting against the podium and River still draped across his lap. There is a muted, warm glow about them, centered around his hearts, and he blearily remembers that it might be contentment.

Loosening his death-grip from around River's hips, the Doctor rings his arms around River's waist and just enjoys holding her. He can already feel bruises forming all along his back and across his shoulders from her grip and he doesn't care in the slightest. He offers a wry, "Good job that you held on."

River laughs lightly and nips in for the briefest press of her lips against his, pulling back with twinkling eyes before he can reclaim her mouth properly. He's never going to get enough of her. Of this. River must be feeling the same soft contentment because she murmurs, "You always catch me," rather than teasing him mercilessly about managing to drop the both of them.

River rests her head against the Doctor's shoulder and they stay there, naked and hidden behind the podium, until their heartbeats return to normal and their sweat-slicked skin has dried except where they're still joined together. The sharp, aching urgency of before has properly faded - masked by a simmering heat that settles neatly in the Doctor's belly.

When his right leg nods off without the decency of taking the rest of him along with it, the Doctor shifts slightly, trying to wake it up again without disturbing River, and suddenly a whole flare of bruises and bumps race into his consciousness. He flinches and shifts again, but it doesn't help much. There is something digging into his left hip and his legs really aren't meant to be splayed like that and -

"Stop fidgeting, sweetie."

So much for not disturbing River. Her voice is half-asleep and muffled against his neck, and that's all very well and good, but his leg is entirely asleep and how is he supposed to _stop_ fidgeting, especially now that she's said something and - "Oi. You had a nice Doctor-shaped cushion to land on -" River snorts but he ignores her, "I'm the one who hit the hard and surprisingly bumpy floor."

"Yes, because nothing about you is hard or bony at all." River deadpans, reluctantly raising herself above him to fix him with an only-slightly-sleepy arched eyebrow.

He wants to be properly annoyed, but that eyebrow is just too adorable and River is still all soft curves shifting against him. Instead, he manages a low grumble, "I'll show you hard."

River just shakes her head at him and levers herself up and out of his reaching grasp, standing with a glorious full-bodied stretch that does absolutely nothing to make the Doctor less inclined to tug her back down into his lap, floor and whatever he's sitting on be damned. "Come on, sweetie." He doesn't budge and River sighs, "Get your skinny arse up before someone notices the locked doors and summons the superintendent with the keycard." When that only makes him huff and glare for the skinny comment, River turns absently to track down her clothes and tosses over her shoulder, "Or did you fancy flashing my boss?"

Scrambling up on still sore and weak legs, the Doctor almost goes crashing back to the ground, his legs tangled up in his trousers and pants and, honestly, he'd rather forgotten they were caught round his ankles. The Doctor glares at River's swaying bum for all of a second - because he is sure she somehow planned that on purpose - before he finds himself grinning and shaking his head.

River disappears from his line of sight long enough for the Doctor to refasten his trousers, mournfully noting that they probably are ruined and he will either need River or his coat in front of him to make it to the TARDIS without embarrassment. The bumpy floor turns out, rather predictably, to be the majority of their clothing. He rescues his shirt from the pile and is just buttoning his waistcoat when River returns, hands on her hips and glaring. "I can't find my bra. Honestly, Doctor, they are not slingshots!"

The Doctor attempts a sheepish shrug, but he can hardly keep the smirk off his face when River is standing there in her heels and his bowtie, her shirt open and unbuttoned and not another stitch of clothing on.

He saunters forward to dare a quick kiss to her pursed lips as he steals back his bowtie, settling it around his own neck but leaving it undone as he scans the stage carefully. "I'll have a look then - can't have you in that shirt without a bra - positively indecent!"

River looks torn between laughing at him and continuing to glare, so he bops her on the nose for good measure and wanders off while she digs her skirt and knickers out from under his coat.

He eventually finds her bra dangling off one of the auditorium chairs, a trivial fact that he thinks River doesn't _really_ need to know, and returns triumphantly with his prize. A smile tugs at the corner of River's lips as she takes off her shirt long enough to slip it back on. The Doctor is just fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch and lamenting that River can't be naked all the time - why aren't they on the TARDIS right now? - when River presses up against him, her hands moving to tie his bowtie.

"I can tie it myself, you know." But his hands settle at her hips as he stretches his neck back to let her work.

He can hear River's smile in her voice, "Yes, well, my love - you also think you can fly the TARDIS."

The Doctor tries to pull back, insulted, but River has him by the neck as it were, so he settles for scowling at the ceiling - and what an interesting ceiling it is, he doesn't know how he didn't notice the intricate intersection of Corinthian and Martian before. Well, he does know, but that's not the point. River can really be intolerably distracting. "You are not better than me at everything, River Song." It's hard to be properly disapproving when she's pressed up against him and he can't even waggle a finger at her.

With a last adjustment, River finishes with his bowtie and pats his cheek a bit condescendingly. "Of course I am. That's what wives are for." There's a smile tugging at her lips.

Whatever protest the Doctor wanted to make gets stuck on the roof of his mouth. River is looking down as she buttons her shirt and tucks it back into her skirt, so she thankfully misses his slightly wobbly smile. "Yes, I suppose they are."

"And it only took you hundreds of years to admit it! Getting sentimental in your old age, Doctor?" But her teasing is light-hearted, and the Doctor feels his hearts swell in response. He's even missed her mocking him.

He hastily collects his coat, buttoning it up for once and resolving to remind River that she's not the only one who loses clothing to their haste. Although, the mess she's made of his trousers seemed more deliberate than anything else. And she has the nerve to accuse him of misplacing her bras on purpose!

When he doesn't respond to her teasing, too busy ranting in his head, River moves to gather her bag. She glances about, hastily smoothing her blouse with her free hand. Admittedly, they probably really should be going. There's no angry pounding against the door - yet - but the Doctor knows they're pushing it.

So he simply rolls his eyes and steals her bag to shoulder himself. Pecking a brief kiss against the corner of her mouth as she frowns because he cannot resist, he offers her his arm. "Shall we?" Maybe he is feeling just a bit sentimental and doting.

With a mock huff, River straightens his bowtie one last time before looping her arm through his. "Well, we're as presentable as we're about to get. Especially if you keep looking at me like that, my love."

Together they open the staff entrance and breathe out a joint sigh of relief when there are no cross administrators on the other side. They're just slipping through when the Doctor remembers something else that has been niggling at the back of his mind, "Wait - River - what else haven't you written down?"

River just tightens her grip on his arm. "Spoilers!"

He wonders how he ever found that word to be annoying. Right now he would be content to listen to her say it forever. He knows he should probably be cross; instead he just finds himself looking wistfully forward to these future adventures in a way he's not properly in ages.

They stroll down the hallway, arm in arm, and make it out into the campus grounds - miraculously without incident. The few students and staff still on campus don't spare the happy couple more than a casual glance. Which is more than the Doctor has for them - he's too busy trying to stare at River and manage not to bump into anything at the same time.

Luna University is bathed in dome-diluted earthlight, which tints the treeborgs an even more brilliant green and makes it hard for the assorted students to remember the barren gray tundra beneath the artificial bubble of civilization. But the Doctor can see the juxtaposition, and he immediately wonders if it ever bothers River. If she can see this timey-wimey bit of land the way he can. If, maybe, that's why she likes it.

The Doctor muses aloud, "The treeborgs seem to enjoy the earthlight even more than sunlight or those brilliant little forty-fourth century true-lights. It must be easier on their processors, though, the earthlight. Maybe they recognize their ancestral trees through the refraction."

River favors him with the soft melody of her laughter, pressing her head against his shoulder and suddenly his whole body is warm and swimming with her. "How long can you stay this time?"

She's clutching him closer, her hands all tangled in the fabric of his coat, even as she leans back again and starts to pull away, to withdraw. The sight sets his hearts on edge. "Actually," he hurriedly pulls her back into his arms, burying his face in her hair to muffle the catch in his voice, "I was rather hoping to stay a while."

This time, when River pulls back to search his face, her eyes light up like starfire. She opens her mouth and then shakes her head, sending all those glorious curls flying and flaming away. Instead she hauls him down by his lapels, smothering the words between them with a kiss that is as burning as the rest of her.

When they pull back for breath, the Doctor finds himself unable (or just very, very unwilling) to straighten up and risk leaving her personal space. He presses chaste kisses to River's lips and keeps her tucked into him, their hair shielding them from prying eyes. He punctuates his words with more kisses against River's smiling lips. "Is. That. A. Yes?"

It's their own private mini universe where all he can see and feel is her: the earthlight filtering through her hair like the flame of a proper sun. He is nothing but a hopeless old fool and he never wants to move again. River indulges him for a moment, bringing her hands up to his face and guiding him back to the waiting warmth of her lips.

When she eventually pulls back, lest they be caught in what will certainly soon become quite a bit more than just a public snog (not that it's ever stopped them in the past, if the number of times they've been handcuffed for public indecency is anything to go by), her eyes are sparking with a more familiar mischievousness. "I don't know... Having a proper stay-at-home husband? Whatever would I do with you, sweetie?"

"I'm sure you would come up with something." His voice is lower than he expects for just a moment, and then the rest of her teasing catches up to him. "And oi! Who said I would just stay at home?"

"I might have some ideas. You'll have to convince me."

"Oh, I can be very convincing, Professor Song."

"Will it involve handcuffs?"

"You and handcuffs!"

But they're both laughing, meandering arm and arm across the overlay of greenery sprawling the campus, suddenly brilliant in the earthlight.

...


	3. Chapter 3

The door to River's house is TARDIS blue. It is a painfully perfect recreation of the one on the house they picked out for Amy and Rory, once upon a time. So long ago now. He's only seen this particular door once before, in River's future. He'd stared at it for as long as he dared before knocking, whisking River away on as many madcap adventures as he could even slightly justify before they headed to Darillium.

He finds himself frozen by the memory, even though he knows that River is just behind him, just in the TARDIS. He's afraid to turn around in case the vision he conjures of her is just that - just another ghost plaguing him.

And then River's hand is slipping into his as she tugs him along with her. The Doctor hardly has time to pull himself together again before she is opening her door with a scarily familiar snap and winking at him as she drags him over the threshold.

It strikes him suddenly that he should be carrying her across the threshold. He should have been here when she bought this house. Where was he? How long has he been gone? Running away from _Professor _River Song when he should have been running toward her?

He glances around, attempting to smother the guilt before River catches it on him and undeniably curious about her life away from the TARDIS (_without him_).

Mercifully, there is plenty to be distracted by in his first proper visit to her lunar home. River laughs as he darts about, picking up and discarding various curiosities and bits and bobs and doodads from River's life. In his excitement, he probably isn't as careful as he should be - it's just that his mind is too busy racing about to figure each item out and on to the next that his hands are always carelessly scrambling to keep up.

Luckily, River seems to manage far better, staying right behind him, either catching various objects or snatching them away before he can dismantle them with short explanations. _Lyra 5. The dig on Zebraxes. That was from the royal collection and Liz X sends her love._

Finally, she gives up. Snatching back a diamond the size of his fist that reflects a strange spectrum in the artificial light - and really, she has it just lying around? - and forcefully pushing him to sit on her couch. "Sit, sweetie." She sounds mostly exasperated but also just a bit amused and he's not above banking off that.

Twisting about, he reads her bookshelves sideways and investigates the contents of her end tables, while River rolls her eyes and presumably heads to the open kitchen, muttering about tea.

Keeping one eye on her back, the Doctor continues to try to piece together River through the contents of her home. In all these years - decades, centuries, _not enough time_ - he's yet to truly figure out the wonder and mystery of River Song. He thinks that even with millennia together, she'd still surprise him.

His throat chokes up suspiciously - oh, how he wants those millennia. With River Song, forever doesn't seem quite so long and daunting.

So he explores what he can, hungry for new details to file away about his wife - and for just the most miniscule of seconds - hardly even a second, really - he understands the appeal of archaeology. Horrified, the Doctor glances back toward River - in case she somehow _knows_ - and hurriedly snatches up the next item his scrambling hands meet. "A pterodactyl egg, River?"

"It's perfectly safe, sweetie, unless it gets too warm." She turns to aim a pointed look over her shoulder and the Doctor quickly sets the egg back down and mutters, "You and Jack and pterodactyls. Really."

"Ooh, does Jack fancy one?" River sets a mug of tea in front of the Doctor and tucks herself onto the couch next to him. "Maybe I'll give it to him as a gift, next time we're in the same decade."

The Doctor opens his mouth to protest, debates whether or not this is how Jack already acquired said anachronistic bird, and snaps his mouth shut again. He offers as bland a smile as he can, and River's eyes light up. "Shall I warn him about heating it?"

The Doctor wraps one arm around River's shoulders and tugs her closer, his other hand snaking around to steal her mug of tea for a gulp. "You know how Jack loves surprises."

River slaps him lightly on the arm, "Doctor!" And steals her tea back, replacing it with his mug. "Really, you're getting as bad as I am in your old age."

The Doctor just smiles fondly, "Mmm - you wouldn't have it any other way, River Song."

River tilts her head up at him questioningly, but the Doctor just kisses the top of her head and sips his tea - enjoying the sweet rush of sugar. "Now, what is on the agenda for tonight, wife? Dashing the hopes and dreams of countless children by marking up their papers over pesky details like grammar? Robbing some unsuspecting gallery of a priceless alien artifact? Running from angry recently awakened locals on far away planets?"

At the mention of running, his hand seeks out hers instinctively. River Song and the Doctor: lounging on the couch, drinking tea and holding hands. The Doctor imagines that some universe with flying swine has just popped into existence at the mere suggestion. He wonders if he could convince the TARDIS to take them there sometime.

River laughs, raising her head off his shoulder, "They're university students, sweetie, not children."

He bops her on the nose because he can't resist, "Same thing," but he quickly recaptures her hand in his, turning back to sip at his tea as though the motion was unconscious.

River gives him an odd look but, after a moment and to his immense relief, River's brow unfurls, her hand relaxing in his loose grip. "You're just cross because your grammar is atrocious - all run-ons and fragments - especially in Gallifreyan."

The Doctor scowls even though she's right - he actually had to learn those rules, unlike a certain someone, and there have always been so many more exciting things to do and see and try rather than conjugating in all twenty-five present tenses. He readily admits that one present tense isn't enough. But twenty-five? Something is inevitably lost in the search for unambiguous conjugations.

River continues over his mental rant, sounding somehow teasing and nervous at the same time. "But I'm afraid you'll be rather disappointed. All I'd planned for tonight was a bottle of wine and old vids."

"You could never disappoint me, River." His voice is soft and serious. Laced with all the words he doesn't say. Laced with memories of their wedding and all the words he wishes he could have swallowed back the second they left his tongue. He swallows instinctively, even though it's far too late for that. "No matter what I may say. Who listens to me, anyway? Don't listen to me. Rule one."

But River's brow is crinkling again, one of her hands reaching out to soothe him. He claps his hands and leaps up, physically distancing himself from those melancholy thoughts. "Right. Vids."

In truth, he's a bit relieved. He's far from certain he'd be up to running with her just yet. He wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off her and he'd be too distracted - too terrified of accidentally letting go - to be any good for anything at all.

...

They watch an old sci-fi-horror flick with just enough audacious inanity that it almost could be real. The Doctor immediately thinks of twelve ways that he could have saved them all, including the monsters, while River comes up with increasingly creative - and violent - solutions for the dwindling number of survivors to try.

They spend the movie laughing and bickering: getting so caught up in debates over the exact air constitution of the fictional planet - given its defining movie characteristics - or whether or not the aliens could move that way anatomically - that they miss half of the "plot" or whatever passes for it.

The Doctor loses his jacket almost immediately, his shirtsleeves rolled up and arms spread out across the back of the couch, one of them neatly tucked around River. For her part, River manages to change into a more comfortable (and far more revealing) nightgown when she goes to fetch herself wine, before curling up against the Doctor with a smirk as she plays with his pocket watch and bowtie. They forget about the movie entirely for a while.

Despite an occasional lack of attention, they manage to come up with thirty-seven solutions that would have saved the movie before its ending, though neither of them actually guesses correctly. The Doctor pouts openly that River managed to think up one more brilliantly madcap plan than he did, mind whirling along to think of #38, but he really can't deny how much he loves her brilliance.

The actual solution in the movie is so convoluted and nonsensical -violating at least five laws of physics and two different gravities - that River and the Doctor immediately agree it never would've worked.

Still, the Doctor can't seem stop himself from exclaiming, one more time, "That ending was complete rubbish. It made no sense at all!"

He leaps up in his agitation to pace and gesture toward the telly, trying to express exactly how little sense the vid made. Sheepishly, he belatedly realizes that he must have jostled River rather a lot when he jumped up, since until a few seconds ago she was comfortably draped over him.

But River just joins him with a bone-cracking stretch that is far too distracting - her nightgown taut against her curves and riding up along her thighs - as she uncurls form the couch, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I know. The 23rd century is so behind the times."

She's laughing at him. The Doctor means to retort, but River is already reaching up to undo his bowtie and waistcoat. He can't remember why he bothered to get dressed again at all. Seems quite silly, at the moment. Clothes. Perfectly pointless.

The Doctor follows the motions of her hands - hopelessly in her thrall. And, ridiculously, somehow nervous. His wife has an unparalleled ability to put him on edge. He suspects she likes it. "Yes, well," he's forgotten what they were talking about.

River comes to his rescue, leaving his clothing undone as she takes his hand and he is helpless to do anything but follow. "Bed."

The Doctor nods even though River isn't looking. Swallows. "Bed. Right."

She leads him through the house by the hand, tugging firmly when he starts to veer off to investigate some of the intriguing items lining her tables and shelves. His mind is giddy and languid at the same time. Racing, but all his thoughts keep coming back to River. Here. Now.

Is this what it would have been like? His life with River in order? Vids and languor and no running at all? Going to bed at regular intervals; reasonable times? Shockingly, he feels a dull sort of longing at the notion. Such domesticity normally stifles him under the weight of boredom. But with River, he's never bored. He thinks he could have tried this. With River. With a renewed determination, he thinks that this time - for these stolen moments - he will.

Her bedroom is a perfect replica of their room in the TARDIS. The one he still can't bring himself to go into - not that he sleeps without her anyway. The sight of it leaves him stumbling and grasping at the door jamb for support.

Thankfully, River has hurried ahead of him to hastily gather up the various papers and journals and books strewn across the bed, tables, dresser - any horizontal surface, really. The sight of her tidying away the everyday knick-knacks of her day-to-day life (_without him_) breaks his hearts all over again.

While River is occupied with clearing off their - _her_ - bed, all the Doctor can think is how much he has missed her journals crowding their bedroom on the TARDIS. How much he has missed their bedroom. How much he has missed _her_.

He used to tease her that she was clearly trying to fit the whole TARDIS library into their room, and that she might as well add the pool and be done with it.

The memory is enough to steady his shaky legs and hearts. He slips behind her, wrapping his arms around River's waist and hauling her back into him. Murmuring low into the mass of curls near her left ear, "No pool?"

River laughs, "Because books and water mix so well, sweetie," and doesn't put up much of a protest when he gently takes the papers from her hands and tosses them haphazardly off to the floor somewhere behind him. River leans back into him, and they sway there for a long moment.

Finally, River twists out of his grasp and moves to sit on the bed, her hand still laced with his. The Doctor falls back onto the bed, bouncing both of them with his weight and delighting at how much it even _feels_ like their bed. If he closes his eyes and forgets that the spinning under him is the moon moving about the earth rather than the TARDIS moving about the vortex, he can almost imagine that they are in their bedroom. That this is just one in a long line of nights stretching across the centuries.

"Are you tired, Doctor?" River's voice is soft and curious behind his eyelids, a bloom of rich color.

"Oh, River. I am so tired." And he lets the true emotion of it bleed into his voice, for once. He is so tired. He doesn't sleep. Without her, he feels like he's not slept in decades. But it's more than that. He's tired of soldiering on and laughing at the darkness. He's tired of the weight of centuries piling on top of him like rocks in an avalanche that keeps on falling.

And River must hear the emotion in his voice for what it is because she curls around him, her fingers idly stroking across his chest, "Then go to sleep, my love."

But he immediately throws his eyes open. Tightening his arms around his wife and trying valiantly not to give into the sluggish relaxation that is trying to claim him. He really shouldn't be so nervous. But he half expects to wake up and find out he's dreamt it all. Except his dreams are never this pleasant.

River just makes a noise of contentment against the material of his shirt, holding him just as tightly as he clutches her. She knows without him having to say. All about the darkness and the nightmares and how sleep can be anything but refreshing. She has her own demons to battle in the dark. Her grip is firm and reassuring, and the Doctor tries to make himself believe that she is truly, properly real. She's not going to disappear into mist in the night.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" Their heartbeats and the rise and fall of their chests are in sync and he can almost feel that elusive sense of peace.

"At least take off your boots." River's voice is sleepy and teasing and the Doctor finds himself suddenly completely at ease.

He wiggles out of her grasp to untie his shoelaces and toe off his boots. He looks down at River's form, already soft with the half-glow of sleep. He manages to slip off his waistcoat and carefully places his watch, pocket watch and bowtie onto the nightstand. He curls back around River, on top of the sheets and comforter, dragging a jaunty star-patterned quilt up to cover them instead. "Goodnight, dear."

River catches his lips for a soft kiss, eyes still closed. "Night, sweetie."

Twined together amongst the stars, they finally drift off to sleep. Arms wrapped securely around one another to ward off the dark.

...

In the muted earthlight, they lie in the replica of their bed, curled around each other and drifting, floating as though they are in the vortex. In his long life, the Doctor has never felt more and less grounded at exactly the same time. River grounds him. He never thought he would have this again. Ever. And now he doesn't know how he survived without it. Without River Song wrapped up in his arms. Tears prickle at his eyes and he fights them back, pressing a kisses to the top of River's head through her curls and tucking her closer to him. They have lost the quilt and their clothes, but they finally made it under the sheets sometime early in the morning.

"Are you really staying?" Her voice is a soft question against his clavicle, one of her hands gripping his tightly.

The Doctor squeezes back just as hard, trying to reassure her in every way he can. For her and for him and for all the times they couldn't stay. "What? What kind of question is that? Of course I am!" He keeps his voice carefully light and challenging, "I said so, didn't I?"

After a moment, River props herself up on his chest, regarding him with a sly smile and reassuringly smug voice, "But what are you going to do with yourself, my love?"

"Oh, you know. This and that. Putter about the house. Whisk you away in the TARDIS. Sit in on your lectures."

"I thought you hated archaeology?"

"Oh, I don't know," he hedges, fidgeting, not quite able to stop the grimace that just the word always brings to his mouth, "it could be worse, I suppose."

River simply lifts an eyebrow in disbelief.

The Doctor shrugs. "What? I've a bit of a thing for the professor."

River laughs at him openly, "A 'thing'? Is that what the cool kids are calling it nowadays, my love?"

The Doctor bops her nose, trying for stern but somehow fidgeting in the face of her raised eyebrow and completely unshakable ability to mock him relentlessly, "Oi. You. Not another word."

River just shakes her head at him fondly before teasing, "Should I be worried?"

"You, River Song, have nothing to worry about." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her soundly. "Ever."

...

They stay in bed well past any reasonable solar hour. It's not unusual - they often lose hours and even days in the TARDIS to proper reunions when they have the luxury. Times filled with low murmurs and gasping exclamations and absolutely no running at all. Times where they cling to one another and pretend that it is more than once in a thousand blue moons that they find themselves curled around one another, free-floating in the vortex without the omniscient ticking clock counting down their seconds together as soon as they meet.

And though the Doctor can feel the low pull and tide of time here, on a lazy moon orbiting one of his absolute favorite planets, he pushes that aside and listens to the pull of River instead. The sound beat of her hearts and the glowing hum of her mind.

"I'll miss my lecture." River is tracing lazy looping Gallifreyan across his chest, following the patterns of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains.

"So miss it." One of his hands captures hers and brings up for a soft kiss against her knuckles.

He loves her hands. How they manage to be so soft and powerful at the same time. Small against his own, though he knows first-hand that they are strong enough to near break his jaw. Admittedly, he'd really deserved that slap. He can't help but chuckle at the memory, juxtaposed against her soft skin and the lazy morning.

"Sweetie." River sighs affectionately, tugging her hand away from him.

"We'll use the TARDIS." He shrugs, unapologetic as he runs his fingers down her sides.

River rolls her eyes and shifts toward the edge of the bed. "I'm getting up."

She sits up before he manages to catch her in his arms. Circling them firmly around her and tugging her back down to him. "Don't want to let you go." Perhaps it comes out a bit petulant, but it is also unequivocally the truth.

River tilts her head with just the edge of vexation that she always gets when she can't decide if he's being ridiculous or sweet. "Well then come with me."

"All right." And he bounds up, already thinking about breakfast and wondering if she has any Jovian orange juice. He has a brilliant recipe that he's been meaning to try.

But River is still propped up on the bed, blinking at him. Exasperated and amused. One of his favorite combinations. "Wait. What?" He finds his discarded trousers and manages to get them on without even almost falling over, "You're serious?"

"Were you not?" He spots his shirt and waistcoat out of the corner of his eye and is just reaching out to rescue his bowtie and watches from the nightstand when River's hand closes over his, stilling him.

When he looks up, River is giving him a delightfully suspicious and confused look. After a moment of searching, she sighs, resigned, "We need to shower before we get dressed." She eyes him, "Quickly."

"Yes, dear." He abandons the search for his clothes in favor of dutifully following her enticing backside toward the bath.

The shower is anything but quick.

He does discover, much later and to his delight, that not only is her closet bigger on the inside, but his clothing is interspersed with hers. He hastily picks out a new outfit before River comes to investigate what is taking so long and finds him reduced to tears over a wardrobe.

...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Have some mature content to make up for it.**

* * *

He hovers behind River while she sets up her lecture notes and calls up artifacts from the digital archives to be displayed. He can't help crowding her, breathing in the perfume of her shampoo on her hair and reaching around her to make adjustments to the images _because really, River, it's far more accurate this way_. River bats at his wandering hands on the podium, though she doesn't seem to mind when his hands wander over her, and she leans back into his loose embrace. It feels like piloting the TARDIS together, in a strange sort of way.

They are still huddled together over the podium, debating the ridges on σ-975, when the students begin to file into the classroom. Their initial loud chatter gives way to the same stunned murmuring as yesterday. The Doctor ignores them as long as possible until the lecture starts and River shoos him off the stage with a quick kiss to the cheek and a rather firm shove.

Amused, the Doctor makes his way toward the front row and claims the middle seat again, wiggling in between the already seated students eyeing him expectantly, with what he rather fears is an entirely self-satisfied grin. River is a terrible influence on him. Not that he can really bring himself to be angry with her when she is right in front of him and so very alive. The memories of just how alive under his hands are fresh and perhaps entirely inappropriate when he is surrounded by children. The Doctor shifts awkwardly and River graces him with a far too knowing look. Though it's entirely her fault anyway - how is he supposed to focus on her lecture when he knows for a fact that River is not wearing any knickers?

Despite his best efforts to pay attention and focus on archaeology, it's, well, _archaeology_, and his wife is his wife, and the Doctor finds his mind wandering more often than not from the 25th century to the 51st. Specifically the last twenty-four hours, thirty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds, and ticking. It's not often that the Doctor finds himself linear for so long without something to occupy him. But just having these moments, just being with River, is more than enough. He's determined not to take this time for granted.

Between memories of River past and present and the intoxicating distraction of watching her lecture - calm and perfectly in command but with an openness that is lacking when she leads armies and mercenaries alike to battle - the Doctor actually manages to keep the part of his mind occupied with cross-referencing her lecture notes quiet. Though he files away a few choice comments for later. River always appreciates his suggestions better when they are alone. Well, when they are in bed. Well, if he distracts her. Sometimes.

Sprawled out in his seat, grinning at Professor Song, the Doctor thinks he has behaved himself admirably. When the lecture ends, he jerks up with a start, limbs flailing. Only River can ever make him lose track of time.

He waits though. Sprawling back across his seat, ankles crossed over the rail. River is answering questions, the same as yesterday, and he forces himself to sit instead of rushing over to her, savoring the lackadaisical crawl of time as he watches her. The slow build of anticipation spreading through him. River is the one who is distracted, her eyes lingering over him so often that several of the students follow her gaze, shy and uncertain and curious.

This time, the Doctor is certain of the lazy smirk on his face. Mainly by the way River keeps licking her lips and half turning toward him. Like two galaxies, circling one another - drawn inexorably closer by the pull of twin gravities. Magnetic. Absently, the Doctor calculates the gravity on Jovia and muses on whether or not River would be a spiral galaxy.

As soon as the door has closed behind the last student, with a distinct thud in the suddenly silent room, the River's eyes meet the Doctor's. The air crackles.

The Doctor holds his wife's smoldering gaze, still reclined with his hands laced behind his head, even though every cell in his body is suddenly strung taut. His voice comes out low, "And did my behavior meet with the Professor's approval?"

River moves sinuously across the stage, a slow and entirely calculated slink that has the Doctor tracking the curves of her body. "A for effort."

The Doctor preens just a bit, though he'll deny it if River asks, feeling awfully chuffed.

She reaches the railing, her hands griping tightly on either side of his crossed feet. River leans forward until her breasts are just brushing his legs. "And here I had worried that you'd deserve a proper spanking." Her voice has dropped as well, into that throaty purr that does _things_ to him.

River's eyes are dark. The Doctor gulps, not so casual anymore. "Save that for next time."

"Oh, I will."

The promise in River's voice is intoxicating. The Doctor straightens his bowtie to keep his hands distracted from reaching out to her. "So what do I get instead, Professor?"

One of River's eyebrows arches. "Who says you get anything?"

She is still the stern professor, playing along, with just a hint of teasing underneath. The Doctor squirms. He loves everything about River, but they both know he loves her best when she's naughty. He drops his feet with a thud and leans forward, his nose inches from River's. "But I've been so very good." He grins, bouncing back in his seat, "And good boys deserve a treat."

"Oh, so you're a boy now?" River's eyes are sparkling mischievously.

The Doctor clasps his hands over his legs, a one-hearted attempt to keep them still. "Depends what you'll give me." There's no stopping the grin that accompanies those words.

River crosses her arms under her cleavage and leans across the railing until his traitorous eyes refuse to look anywhere else. Her voice is considering. "I'm afraid I had rather adult ideas in mind."

"What a coincidence, Professor Song." He leaves the thought unfinished, but he is drawn back toward her, standing quickly and rocking forward into her space.

They are nose to nose again, just their quickening breaths between them. River's lips are slightly open, begging to be kissed, and the Doctor can feel his resistance melting. As much as he loves this game...

River pulls back abruptly, visibly catching her breath, her hand trailing along the railing as she moves toward the stairs. "Come with me then. For your _reward_ for good behavior."

"Where are we going?" He follows her anyway, hovering just short of touching her everywhere.

"Office." River is always brisk when she's in a rush to get their kit off, or when she thinks he's being particularly dense. Those two scenarios overlap to a truly frightening degree.

But the Doctor stops anyway and grins, delighted. "You have an office?"

River rolls her eyes, a fond smile tugging at her mouth. "Of course."

The Doctor steals River's bag from her shoulder and grabs her hand, pulling her along the corridors, half glancing at signs and half at her. It doesn't matter that he hasn't a clue where her office is.

River catches him up quickly, pushing him down a corridor before moving ahead of him, "Left, Doctor."

River always gets them where they are going.

...

As soon as the office door closes, the Doctor finds himself pressed against it. "Here?" He squeaks, startled, "River!"

Admittedly, he'd rather hoped this was the direction the afternoon was going, but he'd not exactly expected to be up against the door. Although, in retrospect, they often find themselves against doors. The TARDIS doors. Phone booth doors. Restaurant doors. Restroom doors. One of the Doctor's hands comes up to tug at his collar. Right. Well. Perhaps they do have a bit of a history with doors. It's just hard to keep his hands and eyes off his wife long enough to get anywhere else. Honestly, he generally considers it a minor miracle if he's managed to get them behind the door, although River quite likes their collection of public indecency arrest warrants. The Doctor can't pretend to claim he really minds them either.

"It's office hours." River bats at the Doctor's hand and undoes his bowtie while she speaks, cheeky, "I'm supposed to speak with students about their performance," one of her hands grips him rather pointedly and he can't be faulted for the sound he makes when she puts her hands on him, "in my course."

River's hand is gone just as quickly as it appeared and the Doctor presses his head back against the door. "Oh my bad, bad girl."

"Hush. I'm evaluating you." River's voice is pure sex now, her words nothing but innuendos. Yes. He likes this game very much indeed. "I think your learning style is more hands-on." River drags his hands to her hips to illustrate, a positively wicked grin dancing at her lips. "And this is a pop quiz."

"Careful, Professor," his enjoys the way she shivers slightly against him when he says her title, his voice rough, "I perform best under pressure."

River's hand presses against his trousers again, her pupils blown, "I was rather hoping you would rise to the occasion."

The Doctor shakes his head, fighting against a fond smile. Really, and River complains about his puns? She is positively terrible. And he can't resist snogging her a single millisecond longer. River melts against his mouth and he loves her beyond all reason - fiercely, protectively.

When they pull back to breathe, his hand runs down her thighs to slip under her skirt and slide through the slick wet heat of her. River widens her stance appreciatively, a soft groan escaping her lips.

The Doctor bites back his own groan at the feel of her, so wet and wanting already. River is insatiable. He smirks at her, "You should know by now dear, I always ace oral exams."

He slides to the floor, hitches up her skirt and buries his face in her glorious heat before she can reprimand him for the pun.

River's laugh strangles into a half moan, and the Doctor grins from between her thighs. That is probably one of his top hundred favorite sounds from River's lips. It is hard to decide. There are always so many to choose from, especially when he is distracted by the heat and taste and feel of her around him, and she's making those soft keening noises that slip out when she is trying not to scream.

And oh, River's a screamer.

As much as he loves making River scream, he always keeps a rotating list of at least eleven of these little strangled sounds. A list he gladly abandons in favor of making her whimper and keen again when River digs her hands into his hair and tugs him so tight against her sex that he wonders if his respiratory bypass will kick in. Handy trick, that, for when he can't tear his lips away from whichever bit of his wife he happens to be _kissing_.

He can never pin down the taste of her. It is always different. The pop of the vortex, the silky strands of time, the sharp spice of mystery; impossibly, the fiery grass of Gallifrey.

She tastes like home.

And right at this moment, she still tastes vaguely of him. He can taste himself all over her, even at her core, and he reflects that this is how it should always be. The two of them melded and melting together until the taste of her skin will always carry tines of both of them.

He could happily spend the rest of his days and nights and eternities between River's thighs. His Amazon goddess, towering and shuddering above him; his glorious wife.

And he must be mumbling half of that against her skin - or else he's just seared the thought into her with the force of how much he feels in moments like these - because River whimpers, "Oh god, sweetie," and shudders against his questing tongue with a barely muffled curse.

He wants to devour her whole. He grabs River's hips and steers her around until she is the one pressed against the door. The Doctor's left hand slides down to River's thigh, pushing until she opens further to him and he pulls back, his lips and tongue just dancing at her entrance. His right hand is still spayed across her hip as his fingers meander toward her clit. He will never tire of strumming her body taut. River's hands tighten in his hair to the point of pain with the effort of not begging him or dragging him where she needs him.

While the sharp thrill of danger that comes with teasing River Song is always delicious, the Doctor has no desire to see anger flash in those sea-green eyes ever again. Besides, he has plans for his reward. His fingers find her clit and press down sharply, his tongue thrusting and swirling as he tastes galaxies in River's skin.

River falls apart with a muffled cry, her legs shaking with her pleasure.

The Doctor keeps her balance. Reluctantly pulling back from over-sensitive skin and watching her eyelids flutter instead.

"Full marks." River's voice is still shaky.

He shrugs, distracted by the smooth skin of her thighs, fluttering under his touch. "I put my all into the exam."

"You can put your all into me."

His eyes dart up to find River's still lust-blown but with a glinting edge. Before he can do much more than stare, River is tugging on his lapels, dragging him up from where he reclines on the floor between her legs for a sloppy kiss.

The Doctor is just relaxing into the press of her curves and hot meld of their mouths, River's eagerly licking and sucking her flavor off his tongue, when she spins him abruptly toward the center of the disproportionately large room.

"You were writing Gallifreyan _inside of me_!" She accuses, though it is husky, laced with post-orgasmic bliss.

"Was I?" The Doctor smirks, bopping River's disbelieving nose. "You liked it."

Her eyes soften at the tap of his finger, but then they flash something that promises glorious retribution. The Doctor swallows hard, hands tracing along the edges of River's skirt where it bunches across her bare hips. When River prowls forward, he stumbles willingly in front of her until the backs of his legs hit something decidedly solid.

A glance over his shoulder confirms it - River has backed him up against the large desk dominating the office, pinning him between it and her. He scoots back on it and drags her with him eagerly. River nips at his lips and climbs onto his lap, grinding against him. "Mmm. I've always wanted to bend you over a desk."

"Really, have we not," he manages - voice strangled as River draws back and shucks off his boots and trousers with military efficiency. "Technically, I think that-"

River cuts him off neatly by sliding sinuously to her knees, "Sweetie," she takes him in hand and he manages to grunt something that might've been a question, "watch the door." Her eyes sparkle wickedly as she swallows him down.

The Doctor chokes and tries not to buck into her mouth. The look in her eyes and her wet mouth on his cock are derailing all his higher order cognitive processes. "The... door... what? What about the door? Is the door not locked? River!"

Rather unfortunately, though not without precedent, he soon forgets about the door all together. Hands tangled in River's hair as she wraps her tongue around him, her head bobbing over his lap in a mass of curls and smoldering eyes as she sucks and swallows him.

River's had a long time to learn this body, and her tongue wraps around him in the most erotic ways, winding him up and setting the low burning in his stomach aflame.

The Doctor grips the desk edge frantically, his eyes locked on the slide of River's lips up and down his shaft, his whole body tightening with a pleasurable quiver.

A low sound wrenches its way out of his throat, and River stills, pulling back to lick at her lips and his cock in slow, teasing strokes that leave him just teetering on the edge.

His fingers dig into the wood. River hums, her tongue tracing under the head of his cock with deliberately wide, casual strokes.

"River."

Her name is more of a plea, and it is enough for her to take him in fully again, setting up a steep rhythm that quickly has him sliding one of his hands to her hair with a moan.

This time, when she pulls back, the Doctor can't help his groan of frustration. "You drive me crazy, River Song," he manages, voice thick with pleasure, his hand moving to stroke at her cheek and the swell of her lips as her hand caresses him in feather-light strokes.

She is a vision. Cheeks and bosom flushed, hair wild from his hands, lips swollen and wet, kneeling at his feet and, after two centuries, still looking at him as though she wants to brand him as hers. "Do you know that I spent your whole lecture envisioning this? Well, not this, exactly. I wanted to listen to your lecture from between your legs. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my bad girl? Trying to lecture from behind that podium while I brought you off? Or maybe I should just tug you onto my lap-"

With a whimper, River's hand tightens on his cock, her mouth descending to suck at the head with a swirl that leaves him seeing stars.

But the Doctor can't stop talking now, and he knows from experience that River doesn't really want him to. So he tells her other fantasies he daydreamed in her lecture, how much he wanted her. How much he always wants her.

River hums around him and his hands tighten in her hair, stopping just short of pushing her further down. She rewards him by wrapping her tongue sinuously around him, sliding up and down his cock before pulling back again, just hovering over the tip.

The Doctor throws his head back and fights against a whimper. Through the pleasurable haze, words spill out of his mouth in Gallifreyan. Pleas and expletives and a running commentary of just how she makes him feel.

River makes a soft noise of pleasure and slides him all the way into her mouth until he bumps against her throat, her tongue tracing patterns that leave him shivering.

He should have known it was vengeance his wife was after. She's been slowly torturing him over the unconscious Gallifreyan earlier. It backfires on her in the most delicious ways, if the way her hand disappears under her skirt is any indication. The image is nearly his undoing. He wants to haul River around and take over for her clever fingers.

But River has always been multitalented. She pulls back enough to wrap one hand around the base of his shaft, sliding it in time to the movements of her other hand against her own skin, her mouth sucking at his head.

He can feel her needy whimper against overly sensitive skin, and it's more than enough. His vision becomes exploding galaxies, all of them with River at their hearts.

River moans and he's pulling her up roughly as soon as he's able, one of his hands joining hers in the slickness between her legs, their fingers slippery and tangling together. His other hand pulls roughly at her shirt, freeing her brassiere-covered breasts to suck and nip at her nipples through the rough fabric.

He easily slips two fingers into River, curling them just so as River's hand slides up to circle her clit in rapid motions. She's still sensitive from his mouth and she comes quick and hard, muffling her scream as she sinks her teeth into his tweed-covered shoulder hard enough to pinch and sags immediately into his waiting arms.

It's not until they're both fighting to regain their breath and the Doctor has settled River more comfortably up next to him on the desk that the niggling _wrong_ feeling turns to alarm. Typically, the first thing he notices is that she would never own something in that bastardized shade of not-TARDIS-blue that the office walls are striped with. The other details filter in more slowly. There is a man's suit jacket hanging in a coatrack next to the door that is very much not his. "River," he begins slowly, noticing the degrees lining the walls, "This is not your office."

River shrugs and leans into his side, "It was closer."

The Doctor takes in her utterly debauched appearance, his fingers untangling the worst of the damage to her hair, and reflects that if they're about to be arrested for shagging in someone else's office _again_, he has no complaints at all.

...


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Another fluffy but mature chapter.**

* * *

The second-technically-third lecture, he bounces one ankle across the other knee, anxious to be closer again. More than a few times, an overzealous bounce accidentally whacks the two closest students as he fidgets and switches legs. He makes an apologetic face, but it's not as if he can just _sit still_.

As soon as her lecture ends, he is scrambling over the railing well before the dazed students have even begun to gather up their things. He can't resist sauntering up the stage until he is right next to River, close enough to whisper under his breath, "You were brilliant."

River laughs, leaning toward him even as she tries to keep her eyes and smile directed toward the students still littering the lecture hall. "Oh, sweetie. You were practically vibrating off the seat in your effort not to comment."

"What can I say, River Song," his lips are close to her ear, "you have me all abuzz."

"Abuzz? Oh, Doctor, if I had thought a shock collar would work, I would have tried one years ago." She is sizing him up with the most delicious challenge in her eyes.

"Who says you didn't?" His hands brush down her arms, drawn to her. He feels her shiver and he grins. He's not the only one all abuzz.

"Um, Professor?" There's a student in front of them. Fiddling nervously with her PDA and staring between them, wide-eyed.

They both blink, slightly dazed. His hand hovers uselessly, not quite willing to drop from River's side but also not quite touching. River's face remains calmed, unconcerned. "Yes?"

"I had a question, um, about some of the artifacts from New Scotland?"

"Of course." River gives the Doctor a pointed look and shifts her attention toward the few students huddled nervously at the edge of the stage.

The Doctor brushes his hand down her arm one more time, pecking a quick kiss to her cheek and hurrying to busy himself with gathering up her lecture notes and case before he can be caught out blushing.

It's hardly his fault. His wife is simply impossible to resist.

Apparently, it's also impossible for the assorted students crowding the podium. The Doctor tries to wait patiently. Really, he does. But he's been waiting all lecture for her and, really, does everyone have to ask questions now, of all times?

"Did you know that, for a brief period, the New Scots misinterpreted the old vids and actually used kilts as ornamental headdresses? The error was quickly rectified, but if you tilt it just right, you can see the shadow of the kilt on his head where the etching was scratched out. Now, they'd got the undergarment bit right, or the lack thereof, so you can imagine the parties." The Doctor pauses and notes that four pairs of eyes are staring incredulously at him. He quickly backpedals, addressing the assembled students and hiding from River's glare. "That is, imagine is the operative word. And are you really old enough to be discussing kilts? Perhaps I'd best discuss the matter with Professor Song. Yes. That's really the only reasonable course of action. If you'll excuse us." He's tucked River's arm under his and is steering her toward the exit before she can think of an appropriate response.

He can't help it - River speaking Gaelic does _things_ to him. He cannot be held accountable for cutting across the opened-mouthed students and whisking River away with him.

Okay, so maybe he's a selfish old man. He shushes her complaints with a kiss and has no regrets at all.

...

The Doctor closes the door to River's office (he checked) and runs his finger across the auto-lock before spinning to run his eyes lingeringly across his wife.

His wife who is currently spreading out papers across her desk and not paying him a second's thought. The Doctor huffs and debates whether or not he should just leave her to work. He's not exactly been leaving her a lot of free time for grading lately. And she does look adorable leaning over her desk, futilely attempting to tuck her hair behind her ears, face all screwed up in concentration. And a delightful view down the top of her dress.

On the other hand...

River ignores him, even when he leans right into her, reading over her shoulder. "You should give this one points for creativity. Mobiles in the 16th century? Imagine what Liz I would have thought."

"Witchcraft, probably." River still doesn't look up, but she seems more distracted than annoyed.

She does look up when he rolls her chair back until it hits her bookshelf with a thud. He wiggles between her and the desk and rests his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning further into her space and breathing her in.

River relaxes into him, tilting closer with a soft sigh. Then her eyes snap up. "I have grading to do."

"But I've been so very patient." He's not been, really, but he's a selfish old man and he's alone with his wife. Patience has never been his strength.

He runs his fingers across River's arm, admiring the way she holds rigid, refusing to turn into his touch. He brushes his lips across the pulse of her neck, feeling rather than hearing her double-heart-rate speed into a gallop.

"You don't get to shag me in my office every time you manage not to interrupt my lecture," River huffs. She's still cross about him secreting her away from her students.

That's all right. The Doctor has plenty of ideas to make it up to her. He's not going to waste any second of this stolen time with his wife. He wants her with him, against him, on him, under him. He wants _her_, all the time. And there's not much incentive to hold back now. He's lost too much time already - holding back when he should have been holding her. "Technically," his lips run up to tug at her ear, while his hands run across her body in soft strokes, just enough to tease, "it wasn't your office." He pulls back, just enough to look at her sparkling eyes and demand, "And why not?"

A smile tugs at her lips. "That's not how it works."

"And who says, Professor Song?" His hands are walking up her thigh now, just edging under the hem of her dress. River's not stopped him yet and her breathing is slightly shallow.

His hand skirts higher, tracing the lacy outline of her stockings and the smooth silk of her garter-belt.

The buzz of an intercom startles him enough that he jumps, arms scrabbling away from River and flailing across her desk to catch his balance as his back bumps its edge. One of his hands brushes across something smooth that must have been the answer button because a voice is suddenly blaring through the tension in the room. "Professor Song, do you have a moment?"

River answers calmly, even as she shoots the Doctor an amused look and reaches out to steady him. "Of course, Dean Chalmer. Just a moment."

She tries to brush the Doctor aside, reaching around him to disengage the locks and shooting him a stern look that clearly says she wants him to shut up and stay out of trouble. River Song telling him to stay out of trouble. Of course, he can't resist doing the exact opposite.

Instead of moving away, the Doctor flops down cross-legged and ducks his head to scoot under the ample space of her desk, tugging her chair closer and winking.

His fingertips resume their path up River's thigh just as the door to her office opens and the Dean ambles in. River shoots him a glare before turning her attention to the Dean. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She tries to wiggle away from the Doctor, but there's only so much movement she can make without drawing attention to him under her desk, and apparently there's limits to the amount of trouble that Professor Song wants to get into. He pulls her closer in response and trails his fingertips across the damp satin of her knickers, grinning into the soft, stocking-covered skin by her knee.

Okay, so maybe it's a little bit of revenge for the office mix-up yesterday.

The Dean settles into the chair on the other side of the wood from the Doctor and begins. "I hear your husband has been visiting?"

"Mmm," River makes a noise that is probably more encouragement at the way his fingers are stroking her through her knickers than agreement with the Dean. "He's had some free time lately."

The Doctor hears the question in her voice and quickly begins kissing his way up her thigh to distract her, his fingers sliding under her knickers. River tries to kick him, but he just catches that leg with his free hand, ducking his shoulder under it and nipping at the crease of her thigh in retaliation.

The Dean continues agreeably, "Oh, good, good. Then perhaps you both will join me for dinner on Friday? My wife is cooking."

If River's response is slightly dazed, the Doctor figures she can blame it on surprise. His fingers circle her clit again, but her voice doesn't waver. "That's very kind of you to offer, but my husband can be something of a picky eater."

He slips one finger inside her, twisting in and out of her slowly, careful not to give them away. He wants to retort that she's always been his favorite dish by far, but he settles for pushing her knickers to the side and tasting her with a soft kiss, tongue just teasing her clit.

The Dean leans his elbows on the table with a dull thump and River discretely scoots the chair even closer in, though there's certainly no way anyone can see anything with her body pressed right against the edge of the desk and her hands clasped above it. "You are a valued member of this institution, Professor Song. We would welcome the opportunity to meet your husband - especially as he's been spending so much time attending your lectures." The wood creaks again, muffling River's sharp inhale as the Doctor adds a second finger and tongues harder at her clit. "I'm sure we can accommodate any dietary issues he may have."

River's thighs tremble, but her voice is only a shade too high. "I'm sure we'd be delighted to come."

The Doctor smirks. She's right on the edge, but he's careful not to tip her over, keeping up the tortuously slow pace. River may be an expert at hiding behind masks, but she always screams when she comes unless her mouth is otherwise occupied.

The Dean gets up, footsteps moving toward the far side of the room, and River heaves a shaky sigh. She scoots her chair back just far enough for one of her hands to snake under the desk and tug at the Doctor's hair, though it's hard to tell from the angle whether she's pulling him closer or pushing him away.

The footsteps stop. "One more thing, Professor." River's fingers still in his hair, her grip punishing. "I don't believe I caught your husband's name?"

The Doctor tightens his hold on her, dragging her closer and relishing the tiny grunts that River tries to mask with her breathing as he sucks hard at her clit just not-quite long enough. She doesn't overtly move, though she shoots him her surprised _you dirty old man_ look, which is his favorite second only to _he's hot when he's clever_.

"It's John," River bites out, her voice almost even as she lies with convincing ease despite her death-grip on his hair and his fingers and head between her legs.

"Well then, I look forward to seeing you both on Friday."

The door finally clicks shut, and no sooner has it done so than they are both pushing back River's chair and scrambling to their feet, hands tugging at one another's clothing in their rush to get their kit off.

The Doctor pushes at her dress until River pulls it over her head and tosses it away, her hands tugging down his trousers and pants and wrapping around his cock. The Doctor stills momentarily at the feel of her hands on him, and River takes the opportunity to push him back against her desk, climbing up after him. "That was rude, Doctor."

"And you enjoyed it." His movement is too restricted, his hands still caught in his shirtsleeves, and the Doctor hastens to wriggle out of it all together, while River strokes him possessively, one hand on his cock and the other palming his balls in a way that is guaranteed to drive him mad.

The Doctor finally manages to free his hands, papers flying off the desk in his wake. He bats River's torturous hands away from him and tugs her up his body so that he can take her face in his hands and snog her senseless. Her reply is swallowed by his mouth as she eagerly devours the taste of herself from his tongue.

For a long moment, she is all hot, glorious skin pressed against him, and the Doctor thinks he forgets how to breathe every time he has his wife in his arms like this. He'd gladly never breathe again if it meant he never had to let her go.

When River sits up, eyes glassy and body flushed, the Doctor cannot resist running his hands across her breasts and ribs and waist. Tracing the sweat beading already on her skin. Her hands dig into his chest as she rises above him, shaking out her hair and licking her lips.

They both hiss softly when she finally sinks down on him. The Doctor's hands find her hips, gripping tightly and dragging her down, unable to resist thrusting up right as she takes him all the way in with a little twist. River shatters unexpectedly, moan ending in a scream.

The Doctor can't help feeling more than a bit smug at that. He knew he'd kept her on the edge, but not that she was quite so tightly wound. "You did like it. My bad, bad girl."

"Oh, shut up," River manages, voice low and husky as she beings to move over him again.

Her pace starts slowly, and the Doctor is content to let her lead. The way her thighs and hands press into him, he doesn't have much choice in the matter. But River maintains the slow pace, rising almost all the way off him before slowly taking him back in, long strokes that keeps the heat simmering between them, but not quite enough to light the spark.

The Doctor groans, canting his hips up into hers as best he can, and one of River's hands snakes up to press against his throat. "I said, shut up."

He swallows, feeling his Adam's apple bob against her palm, and tries to suppress a shiver at her words. Usually there are handcuffs involved in these games. He loosens his grip on her hips, his thumb tracing her hipbone soothingly, and nods.

River's responding grin would be positively terrifying if he were anyone else. She's after revenge, teasing him with slow strokes the way he teased her earlier. The Doctor can't say that he exactly regrets his actions, if this is the outcome.

As River grinds down against him her grip tightens infinitesimally. The Doctor keeps his eyes pinned to hers and takes shallow breaths as she begins to increase her pace, her grip still slowly tightening - controlled, measured.

He's literally under her thumb, helpless against the ever-increasing waves of pleasure sparking across his over-sensitive nerve-endings, heightened with the surge of adrenaline from the pressure at his throat. The Doctor slides one hand down to press his thumb against her clit, matching the strokes of his thumb with those at her hip.

River curses in Gaelic, her grip tightening and pace increasing, breasts swaying delightfully as she bounces and the Doctor wishes he had more hands. Her inner walls are already fluttering around his cock and the Doctor knows that they're both close again.

River keeps her eyes on his as she leans forward, her moans and gasps increasingly obscene as her thighs slide against his. The Doctor scrabbles his feet against the floor, trying to get leverage, but it's useless with his trousers still caught round his ankles. Just a little more...

And then River is leaning down, trapping his hand between them as she covers his mouth with her own. He bites and licks at her lips until she opens her mouth and lets him breathe her stolen air. Her tongue thrusts into his mouth, demanding, and he kisses her back with abandon, as her hand tightens around his throat, just hard enough. His fingers press at her hip and clit as River rocks against him, all her muscles straining and clenching against him.

There is a hot rush of pleasure washing through him that leaves the Doctor gasping for breath he cannot catch. He arches up into River, and River pulls her mouth away and screams as she shatters above him, around him.

River's body goes slack against his own, and the Doctor focuses on catching his breath until the room stops spinning. River's fingers brush tenderly through his hair, while her lips brush in harsh breaths across his shoulder. The Doctor extracts his pinned hand from between them and brings it up to wrap around River, holding her to him, while his other hand resumes tracing the tender skin at her hip.

River's weight is reassuringly solid and real against him, his nerves still afire as their sweat-slicked skin dries and the smooth artificial wood of her desk digs into his back. It's not a particularly comfortable position, but the Doctor would gladly stay there for the rest of his long life.

He can feel River's eyelashes fluttering closed, her breaths slow and sleepy against his skin. The Doctor smiles, hands tracing soft patterns across her hand and side.

"You realize we have to go to dinner with the Dean on Friday."

It's muttered into his skin, but the Doctor can feel River's smirk. He blinks himself awake, indignant, "What? Why did you agree to that?" The words come out rough and scratchy.

"Because it was rather difficult to think of excuses when your head was between my legs, honey." River's voice is still muffled. She pulls back far enough to glare at him accusingly.

She's glaring at him from behind sleepy eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The Doctor swallows carefully, his throat feels ginger but not painful, and fails to resist the urge to trace River's eye and cheek and lips with soft kisses. "Oh. Well then, we'll think of something. We always do."

A smile wins out across River's face as she rests her elbows on his chest and leans into his playful kisses. "You're awfully agreeable all of a sudden."

"It's terribly hard to argue with you, River Song, when you're all naked and naughty and distracting."

River laughs softly, shifting to his side on the desk. "Remind me to distract you more often then."

"You always do."

...


End file.
